I like Vuvuzelas. The shrillness of what everybody loved to hate actually transcended national boundaries!
So I had this crazy idea. Like a sudden Yeatsian epiphany. Why not in place of the common place, we have an African tadka! The outdated Indian tradition of a four piece band: the leading dhol, the insidious octapad, the magnanimous piano and the side-kick dhol no. 2 desperately needs a chowki make-over. If the Gods are to be impressed, style matters. He does not only demand devotion, He expects an authentic intent. Something tangible, whether it be in change or anything fresh off the ATM! Grand, over-decorated fruit baskets are welcome, with jazzy gold covers and gaudy-is-an-understatement wraps. Mithai and khoya drenched sweet somethings piled in pyramids and state of the art (gold plated) bartans.
But God is not that selfish. He likes to see his children happy too! And that is where the pundits come in, our only connect to the divine.
Ever had a hawan at your place? The peace prevails I tell you, once the house is cleansed of all the hidden pots of gold we usually hide in the corners of our rainbow shaded homes. He wants us to hire His true followers who spend nights outside our doorstep, under the expensive carbuncled tents, singing his praise. I guess He is a bit hard of hearing too, so He wants a multi speaker setup with ravenous voices shocking the sleeping neighbours into a mad religious fervour.
Then the puja begins. The little make shift sanctum sanctorum of the entire epic event. And God becomes greedy again. I guess He socialises too much with the Greeks. If the libations of wine and cattle carcass offerings were not enough! Sigh.
Coming back to the real stars of the show, the jagrata experts: if there is no drama, the audience shall turn to their remotes. Religion is not only about believing and having faith for these fundamental followers who croon like a crow, it’s also about adding masala. The bhagats must feel that this is what God really wants! To indulge in paying hefty donations that fill branched pockets and elaborate ceremonial gestures created solely by such innovations that can almost match the creativity of India TV like brilliance.
Even though I don’t like to criticise, I find the conclusive provision of food-to-all a bit strange, to say the least. Buckets of food fill the plates of all that ready themselves to have the Prasad. Economic boundaries blur and God unites us all in the name of charity. How very odd! Those who put their ears to the ground and listen to the cars go by when they sleep, served by those who stay warm and fuzzy in their foam coated beds.
An obtuse departure from praising the Lord?
I guess every industry has its ups and downs on the sales scale. But will the commercialisation of religion ever lose its devoted consumers in our country?
